


Hath No Fury

by jusrecht



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: BAMF!Newt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: Percival falls into a trap. Newt comes to the rescue (read: unleashes hell on any unfortunate soul who dares to touch what's his).





	

  


In Percival’s defence, he doesn’t walk into traps often.

 

In fact, it happens so rarely that he can count all the deplorable occurrences in one hand throughout the two decades of his career. He’s a cautious man by nature, but sometimes, _sometimes,_ when he’s in the middle of a rough week (month) and exhaustion has him firmly locked in its grip and his mind has become decidedly less clear than it was at the beginning of the week ( _month,_ really), then perhaps a lapse of judgment or two might occur. Throw Newt Scamander into the equation and yes, he’s walking, running, _barrelling_ into the trap.

 

The moment of realisation that follows afterwards feels almost anticlimactic.

 

The most important point is, upon discovering that his so-called captors don’t, in fact, have Newt trussed up somewhere and tortured within an inch of his life, the haze of red promptly recedes and leaves him with a far clearer head and a cool logic that sighs mournfully at his moment of recklessness. Then he settles as comfortably as he can with arms tightly bound on his back and begins to assess his situation.

 

He’s in a warehouse, somewhere near the port judging from the salt in the air. The building is large, smelling distinctly of kerosene, with rolls of fabrics stacked on one side and crates of what he suspects to be smuggled goods on the other. Several of them, he can sense with some dismay, contain magical objects. Unsteady light flickers overhead, just enough to illuminate the form of his two captors, now huddled together behind rolls of muslin and whispering between themselves.

 

“We should just kill him.”

 

“No, no, boss said to wait for him.”

 

“But he’s…”

 

They both cast nervous looks at his direction. Percival bares his teeth, taking some dark pleasure from the flinch it causes. They are clearly terrified of him, which makes the whole situation even more bizarre. His looking perfectly bored and not in the least concerned about his fate probably doesn’t help either.

 

His amusement is interrupted by the distinct sound of Apparition. Only halfway through breaking the binding spell, Percival watches with some trepidation as a tall man in a dark suit materialises, approaching him with sure, quick steps.

 

“Director Graves,” the low, drawling voice is as unpleasant as the malicious face grinning down at him.

 

Percival frowns. “Hobson.”

 

The former Auror hisses, casting a _Silencio_ on him. “Idiots,” he snarls at the other two. “Do you want him to escape? This man can destroy an entire city block if you allow him the power of incantation.”

 

Percival is tempted to point out that he still _can_ do considerable damage even without any power of incantation, but it would be redundant. Hobson, he has no doubt, knows exactly what he is capable of. He had been a Senior Auror in the Law Enforcement Department until his dishonourable discharge three years ago for repeated displays of cruelty to No-Majs.

 

“Look at you.” Hobson returns his attention on him, eyes glinting with triumph. “Not so great now, aren’t you? So easily trapped, like a novice. But I knew you would come at the slightest hint of threat to that precious boyfriend of yours. Too bad we don’t really have him with us. It would be fun, don't you think, to make you watch the things I’d do to him? Tell me, does he cry prettily when hurt, like a good little boy?”

 

Percival glares darkly. He can feel the binding spell unravelling, but the last few knots are tricky and require his entire concentration. And afterwards, he will still have to take his chance against Hobson, who is both a powerful wizard and a skilled duellist. And without his wand, he’s rather at a disadvantage, but–

 

He has barely begun planning his battle when the wall to his left explodes in a shower of bricks and plaster. Percival stares, only mildly surprised, as Newt Scamander storms in, wand raised and hair in complete disarray—and there’s a _Wampus_ stalking behind him.

 

“Where is he?” Newt demands, his eyes focusing on Hobson at once.

 

It takes Percival a moment to realise that Hobson, the wily son of a bitch, has put a concealment charm on him. Newt doesn’t know that _he_ ’s there, and the thought is an alarming one, because Percival has seen that look on Newt’s face before, when they discovered an underground Demiguise ‘farm’.

 

“Scamander, right?” Hobson, unfortunately, doesn’t realise what kind of horror he has unleashed.

 

“You took something of mine,” Newt says and his voice is something soft and deadly and utterly terrifying that colour drains from everyone’s face except Hobson’s. The Wampus responds to the tone as well, head lowered, poised for an attack

 

“Did I?” Hobson is smiling like the lunatic he is and Percival nearly, _nearly_ , pities him—except he has more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that hell is imminent and he’s still stuck on the last knot–

 

Hobson fires his first spell without warning. Percival curses, heart lurching in his chest. He knows Newt, but one of the reasons why Hobson nearly always won every inter-department practice duel was because he picked up and discarded rules as he saw fit. He’s as sneaky as he is powerful and it’s a devastating combination in a one-on-one.

 

Newt, however.

 

Newt is not a powerful duellist; he is, however, an _insanely_ fast one, his instinct and reflexes honed by decades of working with creatures far faster than any human being can possibly comprehend. His series of Apparitions is a blur to anyone who’s watching—and a shock to anyone unfortunate enough to be standing against him at the moment. His habit to wield unpredictability like a weapon also comes in handy. Percival watches, a wry smile on his face, as Hobson’s wand is knocked out of his hand with a simple _Expelliarmus_ from an entirely unexpected direction, not even half a minute into the duel.

 

The rest is a coda. Newt maintains the constant Apparitions to dodge and fire spells until Hobson crumples to the floor, nearly unrecognisable after the number of hexes and jinxes that hit him square in the face.

 

The other two, Percival notices the moment he _finally_ breaks the spell, have either fallen unconscious or decided to feign death before the prospect of facing a Wampus.

 

“Clearly you have everything under control,” Percival says dryly, rising to his feet. Newt, who has just conjured some ropes—no, not ropes, _chains_ , heavy iron chains that cut deeply into Hobson’s flesh—nearly hits him with a Stinging Spell.

 

“Percival.” There is a sigh there, relief snaking down each syllable and clamping down tight. Newt is all tense, coiled energy as he moves closer, eyes wide and gait stiff. “Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine, everything’s fine,” Percival announces, and then glances at the scene of destruction around them and grimaces. “Well, not quite everything.”

 

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” Newt’s voice is a guilty murmur. “But they were luring you in using _me_ and–”

 

“I’m alright,” Percival tells him, one hand clasping Newt’s face and the other settling on the curve of his back, pulling him close. Newt breathes in deeply, a sharp, shuddering breath that shakes his form, and Percival holds him, stroking slowly despite the fingers that clutches to his wrist like a manacle. Newt stares at him, but the rigid tension in his muscles finally loosens as he tilts his head slightly, pressing his cheek to the valley of Percival’s palm. 

 

Percival resists an impulse to kiss him and nods at the prowling Wampus instead. “You have a Wampus.”

 

A small smile flits across Newt’s face, edged by guilt. “Yes. About that. She’s a recent addition and I would’ve told you but you’ve been busy and I didn’t want to bother you with it, so…”

 

Percival sighs at the hopeful look on Newt’s face but doesn’t pursue the subject. There will be plenty of time later to iron out any legal kinks that may have occurred from illegally owning a disastrously dangerous creature. For now, he prefers to change the subject.

 

“So what you said earlier.”

 

“Which one?”

 

“‘You took something of mine?’”

 

Newt laughs, a little self-consciously, but doesn’t look away. “It’s true,” he murmurs quietly. “You’re mine.”

 

It’s the way he says it, like a self-evident fact, like an old promise carved into a stone some thousands years ago, and Percival thinks of the books and scarves he has left in Newt’s suitcase, next to tomes about werewolves and Lethifolds and a Hufflepuff scarf, and finds himself grinning so widely that his cheeks hurt.

 

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

 

_**End** _

 


End file.
